Walk the Streets
by dovine
Summary: After years of prostitution in the city, Annabeth is offered a deal from a strange and eccentric businessman. Rated M for adult themes and depictions of strong language, violence, and sexuality. Cover art by Viria with text edit by me.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a rewrite of my original fic **_**Walk the Streets**_** on FFN under the username JinSun. I started it in 2013 but stopped updating in 2015 for a variety of reasons. That being said, I want to take a stab at finishing the story in the way that I always imagined, this time with better writing skills and some general maturity. There will be serious adult themes throughout the fic, so please be aware of that if it is a problem for you. I will be uploading chapters of about 3,000 to 5,000 words as often as I can. Do not expect frequent updates because I am a grad student but do expect fulfilling updates because small ones are just summaries with extra steps. All characters are over the age of 18 unless otherwise specified.**

**Yes, **_**Walk the Streets**_** is definitely OOC and yes, it unintentionally derives creative inspiration from the 1990 romantic comedy, **_**Pretty Woman**_**. I'm original, I swear. Please feel free to leave a comment since I love reading them.**

Muggy August air and the droning of cicadas enveloped Annabeth on her walk from the Natural History Museum down to her hole-in-the-wall apartment off 85th and 1st. Apartment was probably an overstatement given the fact that even those rat's nests were usually equipped with 24/7 running water and an actual stovetop, but she'd grown fond of her Bunsen burner and no water meant no flooding. The walk wasn't long, just under two miles if she cut across the grass and avoided dog poop. Nothing like cleaning digested kibbles off your only pair of sneakers in 95-degree weather.

Even if she had stepped in dog poo, the walk would have been well worth it, since Tuesdays were Annabeth's only free day to do what she wanted without having to worry about a client calling. Of course, she almost always spent them doing the same thing, studiously engaged with piles of books at the library or ogling in wonder at massive petrified tree rings from the days of pioneers. The week's pent-up stress would melt away like the ice cream bars sold to little kids and crusty business executives along Central Park West, and just for a tiny isolated moment, she could pretend she was someone else. Those old worn pages and seemingly infinite sap rings never failed to completely capture her imagination. So much possibility existed in the world of books and science that Annabeth often felt as though she could spend the rest of her life reading and still never scratch the surface. Her favorite subject, even back in the nightmare that was public school, was always science class. The unit on architecture and physics seemed like such an amazing concept, to be able to build something huge, something so undeniably grand that would last forever. She wished she could afford to go to school as an adult.

Sweat streaked down her flushed cheeks as she huffed her way across Central Park. Families with children cooled off in the shade while others trudged along the path in their workout gear. One guy even sat in business suit on a park bench with the sun beating down on him. She knew it was supposed to be high 90s and humid all week, but it was the one day she could wear jeans and baggy clothing instead of her usual slutty getup. Laced heels and miniskirts do not make for appropriate artifact viewing, but sweaters and old jeans were practically made for it. The added benefit of course was that no one was staring at her like a slab of meat up for sale. She'd even tied her long blonde curls into a ponytail and threw on the old Yankees cap she'd had since she was twelve. Even though that faded cap was practically a part of her body at this point, she could never remember where she got it. It definitely had something to do with her mother's side of the family. Then again, she had no idea what her mother even looked like.

Memory lapses were common for Annabeth, and the absence of her mother was hardly the most shocking of all. Her childhood was littered with incredibly strange if not hypnotic moments of obscurity. Some she could chalk up to her diagnosed ADHD as lapses in attention, but others simply made no sense even in retrospect. One moment watching a murder of crows, the next in a hospital wing with a stern looking nurse peering down over her pointed nose. Nodding off while taking a test then waking up crying in a storm drain. This doesn't even begin to cover her frequent and troubled experiences with spiders. The teachers were no help and always seemed to blame these occurrences on Annabeth, despite her inability to explain why or how they had happened, despite her being a child and they adults.

Still, even those lapses in memory were preferable to the ones she had as an adult. Not all clients were willing to play by the rules, and she had learned long ago to never accept drinks she didn't make herself. Those moments were less frequent ever since her move away from the Bronx and into Manhattan, no doubt due to the shift in clientele, but the memories, or lack thereof, did not stay with her old apartment.

The loud sounds of the city brought Annabeth back to the present. August was a good time to walk the streets, even in the heat. The swarms of loud tourists typical of the vacation months were dying down and the beating sun meant that only the most resilient locals would crowd the sidewalks. Even on the stretch of 5th Avenue lined with hot dog stands, roasted nut carts, and "I New York" shirt stands, she had more than enough room to freely swing her arms.

Annabeth was just about to cross the street when she noticed a man about twenty yards back glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. It was the same guy from the park, the one roasting in the sun in a full business suit. He looked somewhat young, maybe a few years older than her, but his hair was jet black and tousled, especially in the humidity. His suit was dark blue and slim, probably some young business intern fresh out of college or a rich heir to the city's ever-growing billionaire class. Realizing he'd been caught looking, he slipped on a pair of shades and walked off the way they came.

_Creepy…_ she thought. Unwelcome and uncomfortable stares were the name of the game in her line of work, but usually only when she was in her "work attire." A baggy sweater, jeans, and a raggedy baseball cap were hardly the definition of sexy, and it usually let her lay low and unnoticed. Whatever he had wanted, it clearly wasn't appropriate for daytime in public. _I'll have to keep a better eye out on my next walk,_ she thought, dreading the idea of her off day becoming just as unpleasant as the rest of the week. _I'd better make a detour so he doesn't find out where I live._

The Yorkville Library was just down the street and only a couple of blocks away from her apartment. The plastered Art Deco style reminded Annabeth of the old black and white movies she used to watch with her dad about the building of Manhattan, or even King Kong. It wasn't the biggest library in the city, not by far, but it was one of her favorite places to spend her free time. Sometimes she just couldn't take it in her cramped apartment anymore and needed a place to breath. The library also served as a wonderful place to hide from any and all creepers who insisted on following her home, as police frequented the area and some of the staff knew her face well.

One such person was an older woman with brilliant silver hair and stormy grey eyes, not unlike her own. Annabeth always looked for her, but it seemed as if the old lady only ever showed up once every couple of weeks or so. Despite this, she always made an effort to offer Annabeth a book recommendation and ask her what she thought about the last one. She looked forward to those moments, even if she was a little intimidated by the woman.

Annabeth walked up the steps and swung open the large wooden doors. The usual after school group of kids loitered around tables, chatting and playing games on the library's computers. Some of the front desk librarians nodded at her, and people wandered through the aisles, eager to escape from the brutal afternoon heat. A long line of people streamed out of the café in the back, most just there to buy a smoothie or have an excuse to use the bathroom. Annabeth couldn't really blame them since she wasn't there to read either; the books she had just checked out last week were still unfinished on the floor next to her bed. She peered over at the nonfiction desk and saw the familiar silver hair tied in a tight bun furiously typing away on what looked like a several different screens at once.

_Must be the heat_, she thought to herself.

"Hello Ms. Barn," Annabeth said.

The librarian looked up from her work but continued to type all the same. "Hello Ms. Chase. I believe you were here last Tuesday. Have you finished your books already? What did you think of _Drawing for Architects_? Did you understand the part about lateral trellises? You took notes I assume, yes?"

Annabeth twisted her fingers at her waist. "Oh, umm…no, sorry. I just came in to say hello, sorry." She felt like she was apologizing too much, but the fiery look from the librarian made her itch, as if she was still in high school and didn't do her homework. She wasn't prepared for the barrage of questions about something that was merely a hobby.

Ms. Barn paused and stared at her for a few moments before turning back to her work, the clickity-clack of the keyboard ringing through the library.

Annabeth shifted nervously at the desk, wondering if she should leave or say something else. She decided on the later. "I just wanted to say thanks for giving me recommendations and all, you know. Not many people I know read." She paused, uncertain of where to go next. "Sorry, I just appreciate it is all, thanks."

The old librarian nodded but didn't say anything. It was as if she was upset or somehow disappointed that Annabeth hadn't finished the books she'd been given, which annoyed her since it had only been a week and she hardly had any time to do anything, much less study architectural books. Realizing that the conversation was over whether she wanted it to be or not, Annabeth quickly walked away, accidentally bumping into the side of a cart of books and spilling them onto the floor.

"I'm so sorry! Sorry, I'll clean them up right away!" she said, frantically grabbing at the books. It was embarrassing enough being cold-shouldered by the one librarian she knew, and Annabeth wasn't eager to continue the trend. She shoved the rest of the books onto the cart, and without looking back, swept out of the library onto 79th Street and hurried down the pavement towards her apartment. Her cheeks flushed bright red, but hopefully the people just thought it was the heat.

After a few blocks, she slowed her pace to catch her breath. _Why was she so cold to me? It's not like I've ever finished a book in that time._ She sighed and plopped down on a bench. A portly woman walking her chihuahua sauntered down the street talking loudly into a Bluetooth earpiece about business deals and pricing. _What a lousy way to end the day_. Annabeth lifted her cap and ran her fingers through her hair, hoping a breeze might cool her head. She liked the advantages of the baggy clothing, but even she had limits in the blazing heat of an August afternoon. The asphalt from the road radiated up at her, and the exhaust from cars stifled the already swampy air. _One less person who doesn't judge me_, she thought.

Just as she was about to get up, she felt a tingle down her spine, like someone was watching her but didn't want to be seen. Annabeth whirled around, twisting her neck to glance at the trees and patios. From the edge of her vision she saw him. It was the same man in the suit from earlier, this time standing by a black sedan, his eyes obscured by his sunglasses and a newspaper in his hands. She knew better than to think it was a coincidence, but it was impossible that he'd found her so quickly. Annabeth was sure she wasn't followed all the way to the library, but if she ignored him, she risked being followed home. The only option was to confront him in broad daylight with as many people around as possible, and with the summer sun still high in the sky, now was her only opportunity to protect herself.

Approaching him didn't feel like approaching the usual crowd of creeps she would confront. Maybe it was because it was broad daylight, or maybe it was because the man was dressed nice enough to attend a formal ball, but either way it was unsettling. He hadn't looked up from the newspaper although Annabeth had already crossed the street and was only a few feet away. She stopped at arm's-length, enough room to run for it but close enough that she could identify his face in case an officer needed to draw it later.

"Stop. Fucking. Following. Me." she said using her best commanding voice. She didn't want it to sound haughty or mean, since the sort of psychopaths that stalk women tend to be loose cannons in general. She knew the best thing to do was to acknowledge the stalking and confront them about it. That was the advice of the social workers she'd met in the past, and it usually worked. The second option was bear-grade pepper spray.

The man looked up from his paper and knit his brows, a look of general confusion and panic on his face. "Oh no, I wasn't trying to—"

"Do not follow me home, do not talk to me, do not come anywhere near me," she continued feeling more confident. "The next time I see you, I will call the cops and tell them you've been following me for days."

Annabeth knew the NYPD was borderline useless in terms of daily reports like this, but the threat of arrest or a permanent record was usually enough to scare off most people, and she figured it had to work for business execs just as it would for anyone else. The guy seemed petty worried anyway, judging from his nervous glances and body language. Still, there was something remarkably off about the way he held himself and spoke, as if he was intensely confident in what he was doing. _Yea, I bet he is. Fucking creep_, she thought.

"I'm so sorry, I truly didn't mean to come off that way," he said again, opening his palms to her as some sort of peace offering. "I am definitely, one hundred percent, not stalking you or trying to do anything wrong here." He pulled his glasses off, revealing a pair of sea-green eyes framed by dark brows and high cheek bones. She hadn't been able to tell up close, but the man was incredibly good looking, especially when compared to the usual scrawny or out-of-shape businessmen that polluted the streets of Manhattan. Even under his suit she could tell his frame was large and his shoulders broad. He might not have been the biggest guy, but Annabeth pegged him for being athletic in college, maybe a runner or swimmer.

That being said, there was no way Annabeth was going to let down her guard to a half-baked apology like that. "Yea, okay, sure. You just happened to see me earlier and creepily walk away. You just happened to show up outside the library that I just happened to have exited. I've met a lot of liars. You're not very good at it."

She shifted her weight to the back of her heels, feeling a sense of dread at the impending conflict. Definitely not the direction Annabeth anticipated her Tuesday evening plans going.

"No," he said blankly. The man looked like he was struggling to comprehend what was happening. "I have a job offer with a company I run, that's all, I just didn't know how to approach you about it."

Annabeth shuddered at what she imagined a job offer from the creep could be. "So I'm to believe that you so graciously picked me among all the possible New Yorkers in this city for a job for your company, randomly, and that it wasn't you being creepy, it was just you respecting me and wanting to approach me the right way, is that right?"

"Yes, exactly," he said, his face lighting up in sudden relief.

"You're an actual idiot. I'm calling the cops," she said, taking a step back and whipping out her phone. It wasn't like her to lose her temper in situations like this, but the guy was being particularly insufferable.

The man frowned at the insult like a kid. "Look, I think we just got off on the wrong foot," he said. "My name is Percy. Percy Jackson. I own several companies but the one you'd be interested in is a security management firm. I have a business card and everything." He reached into his wallet and pulled out a shiny white card with a large orange square.

Annabeth hesitantly reached out for the card and glanced at it. Everything looked legitimate, but it wasn't exactly rocket science to print business cards these days. "What's CHB stand for?"

"Oh right. Control Holding Board. CHB operates in a number of fields and so we use the company as a sort of management system to allow the other branches to flourish and do their jobs efficiently. Probably won't mean much to you anyway since the job is under a subset company," he said, shrugging.

Even his response seemed pretty well thought out, but that didn't do much to ease her fears. If anything, the line could have been rehearsed beforehand. And what kind of name was Percy? Annabeth didn't like the look of him or his incredibly suspicious offer. He hadn't even told her what the job was.

"Look, no offense, but you've made me really uncomfortable and I need you to leave.," she said. "Please don't contact me or come by here again or I really will call the police and file a report." She turned on her heel and began walking back to the bench.

"Alright well, sorry again," he said, sounding somewhat frustrated. "I'd rather you didn't do that, so let's just say you declined my offer." He folded the newspaper and tossed into the open window of his car. "You have my business card if you change your mind."

Annabeth watched him drive away, memorizing his license plate number just in case. It seemed that confronting him was the right idea, but the whole incident seemed really unlike other confrontations in the past. The shiny white card glittered in the dying light of the afternoon sun, the letters CHB etched into the card and her mind. _What a vague name for a company_, she thought. _Nothing good can come from secrecy like that_.

Annabeth tucked the card away into her jeans pocket and walked down the street toward her apartment, unaware of the gravity of the offer just presented to her.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well, I did warn you. COVID happened (is still happening), and my job relates directly to the pandemic and its litany of problems, so while I had no intention of frequent updates, I did intend to upload a new chapter several months ago. Thanks for waiting patiently, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

The end of summer went much the same as the beginning: hot, humid, and all too quickly. It had been several weeks since her unwelcome encounter with the man in the suit, and Annabeth had all but forgotten him and his card. By September, the days waned shorter and the damp heat that rolled off sticky pavement was long gone. It was perhaps the one month of the year when people actually chose what they wanted to wear instead of the weather deciding for them. All but Annabeth, of course. Her uniform rarely changed. Summer was almost always a better situation though, since she could at least pretend her fishnets and micro-skirts were fashion statements to beat the heat rather than a form of employment. It wasn't like people ogled her everywhere she went, but it only took one.

In fact, she often felt lucky for her living situation. She couldn't imagine having to do what she did in any other city, in any other culture. People here were assholes, but they were assholes that respected personal privacy. Bump into some briefcase-carrying exec with too big a paycheck to match his too-big gut? Better be prepared to hear some choice four-letter words. But walk down the street in full drag and a healthy bulge? Not a problem. That's the rule in the city. Do whatever the fuck you want, but don't involve me.

No, it wasn't the looks that made her hate the work. It wasn't even the work, usually. It was the fact that Annabeth knew she was more than that. Normal whores didn't study advanced calculus or read up on the Teutonic Knights during lunch. She hated wasting her potential, degrading herself for money when she knew she could do better. That was the question that people always asked when they found out her profession. "Well why don't you just do something else?" How? With what money, what job experience, what formal education? How was she supposed to compete with college grads half a decade younger with infinitely more experience?

Annabeth paced aimlessly near her usual corner bodega. She hadn't meant to get herself so worked up, but there was absolutely nothing to do when waiting for a client, especially so early in the evening. Usually she'd chat with the other girls on the street, ask about their kids, listen to the endless drama about who took which corner and why it was a bitch move. Today was Monday though, one of the slower in the week, so she had only her pouting mind for company. She wished it were tomorrow already.

From afar she could hear the rumbling of her employer's most prized car. Not exactly the distraction Annabeth was hoping for, but at least he was less violent than her last pimp. The white Toyota Super Charger screeched around a corner and pulled up in front of the bodega. It was probably the single most riced car in all of New York, complete with tacky floor lights, a protruding engine, and windows so tinted it was a miracle he made it two blocks without getting pulled over.

"Hey, there she is," her pimp said, stepping out of the car. He flashed her a toothy grin, showing off a gilded canine. His blonde hair was greased back smoothly, a look that suited his slacks and untucked short-sleeve button-down well.

"Luke," she said indifferently.

"How's my star prize? Good? How's business? How many clients tonight?" he asked.

Annabeth nervously glanced at the people walking past, hoping nobody caught on to what he was implying.

Luke noticed and gave her a knowing look. "Come on now, you know nobody cares. Plus, the pigs in this hood are ours, remember?" He rapped his knuckles against the hood of the car, prompting his partner in crime to step out. Ethan was a second-generation Japanese American covered in graphic tattoos. His parents were extremely conservative.

Luke's eye twitched as the man slammed shut the door and stepped up to the curb. "I'm goin' in, you want some smokes or an Icee?"

Luke waved him away and pulled Annabeth to the side. "So really, how's business lately? You met anyone I should know about?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She flicked her long blonde curls back and pretended to be distracted by some people across the street.

He stepped closer, nearly whispering now. He smelled like a mix of cigar smoke and expensive perfume. "You know, any associates of mine. Maybe some interesting businessmen I'd be glad to meet? I know you've got the body to attract those old fucks, don't tell me you're turning them down."

He grabbed her chest and squeezed, even as people glanced by on their commutes home.

Annabeth carefully pulled away, trying not to make it obvious what he was doing.

"Listen," he said, grinning at her discomfort. "We all have our role to play in this world. Those senile bags of wrinkly shit need loving too. I know what you can do with those lips of yours, so make sure their needs are met for me, huh?"

She shivered at his tone. It was gross enough having to hear the sleazy shit her customers told her, but Luke was always the master at making her feel disgusting. "I don't turn down money, you know that."

He pulled out a cigar stub and lit it with a spark from an old matchbox. "True, you do have an eye for them, I'll give you that." He took a long drag of the woody smoke, puffing it out in rings. "I want you to do me a favor then."

She shifted her weight nervously. Favors for her was debt. Favors for him was law. "I'm not walking off the island. I told you I don't like it there." She hoped he couldn't hear the quiver in her voice.

Luke waved away the smoke and shook his head. "Of course not, you said no so it's a no."

She'd said no and she'd been answered with a jab to her ribs. Couldn't hit her face, that's where the money was.

He leaned down so she could smell the stink of the cigar on his breath. "I just need you to keep an eye on your clients that's all. Think of it like customer service. You're getting to know them, what they like, what they say. You understand, right kiddo?"

Annabeth could tolerate the sexual harassment from him, or rather had to, but she hated being spoken to like an idiot. Unfortunately, to reveal otherwise would be to allow him into her personal life. She wasn't sure Luke even knew she could read.

"I guess," she said. "But…why? Who am I looking for?"

"What, are you too good for it?" he laughed, slapping her ass. "Don't you worry your pretty little head with that. And don't give me the useless shit, alright? High stakes only, you hear? Good." He stamped out his cigar and kicked it into the street. "Do have fun tonight."

Luke grabbed Ethan who was loitering around a group of homeless men begging for smack. He gave her a wink before hopping back in his ricer and blasting down the road and out of sight.

A year ago, Annabeth would have panicked after what had just transpired, but these days it felt practically common place. Luke had seemed so normal then, like a real businessman despite the nature of the work. He changed fast, or maybe more accurately he decided to show her his true colors. She could still remember when his cheeky smile meant reassurance instead of an impending grab to the ass. Still, despite his degeneracy, he paid better than her last pimp, and his clients were usually of a higher grade.

Before she could linger in her thoughts too long, another car pulled up in front of her corner. For a moment she thought Luke was back to give her more obscure directions, or maybe to cop another feel, but the man who stepped out of the car was the same one from a couple of weeks ago. She almost wished Luke and Ethan were back. Almost.

He was dressed in a suit again, this time dark grey. With the same apprehensive look on his face as last time, he walked over to Annabeth.

"You can't be serious," she said, scowling at his presence.

"I was just in the neighborhood and you looked familiar, thought I'd stop by," he said.

"Oh!" she replied with as much sarcasm as she could muster. "You just happened to be uptown at 11:30 at night and just happened to see me standing here. Well now, that's an explanation that just about covers everything."

Percy frowned and scratched his chin. "You've very rude, you know."

"Heaven forbid," she bit back.

"I just need to know if you had a chance to think about the job offer, that's all. Nothing nefarious about that. I would have called but we don't have your number, obviously."

"Obviously," she said. "Well Prissy, I just have to be honest with you. I don't believe you. I don't think your investment or whatever company is real. I think you're a human trafficker. I think that if I went with you, at any time of day, I would be sold as a slave or dead within a few hours. Please fuck off."

The night was not going well. She turned and walked away, hoping to lose him and possibly find Luke before she really did end up gagged in the back of a van, but he followed her anyway.

"First of all, it's Percy," he said. "Secondly, it's a holding company not an investment company. Our subsidiaries invest, we just manage."

"Don't care, not interested." Annabeth was starting to worry about his persistence, especially since it was clear he was having her followed.

"We pay well though, great benefits and—"

She wheeled around at him, her purse slamming against his side. He smelled rich, or at least what her rich clients usually smelled like. Pressed suit cloth, top-shelf cologne, and that unmistakable yet unidentifiable smell of power. The man was loaded, no doubt. Oddly, underneath all that she could just barely make out the smell of the ocean, like he had just come from a day sailing in the bay. Still, that was no reason to trust him.

"Seriously, this is the last time I tell you. Get the fuck away from me, and leave me the fuck alone," she said. "I don't know who you are or what your sick problem is, but I'm not a part of it. If you don't leave me alone, I'm going to have to tell my boss." Clearly threatening with the police had not worked, so Annabeth hoped he was smart enough to figure her boss meant trouble.

Percy pursed his lips and slowly nodded his head, unsure of how to continue. "I just really think you're qualified for the job."

"Unbelievable," she said, reaching for her phone.

He reflexively held out his hands, taking a step back. "Easy there, just…" He looked worn out. "What can I say that will convince you?"

"How about some fucking honesty for starters." She held the phone ready with Luke's number on screen. Annabeth wasn't eager for him to come back, but there was little choice if he was going to pressure. "Why me?"

Percy folded his arms and frowned at the ground. "I'm not sure how much I should say," he said after a moment. "Let's just chalk it up to a matter of networking."

Annabeth couldn't help but laugh in his face. "So, what, you want to join a gang? Is that it? Or are you some reject trust-fund baby with a synth addiction and now you need a reliable fix?"

"Do I look like that?" he said.

"No," she said admittedly. "But you can't expect me to accept an equally vague answer to an already vague proposition."

"You mentioned your boss like it was a threat. I'd like to know more about him—or, well, CHB would like to know more about him."

For the first time since she'd met him, Annabeth realized the threat he posed. Human trafficking was already a red flag for serious organized crime, but she figured it was her tits not her boss that attracted him to her. If Percy knew who Luke was, then this was well out of her field.

"Sorry, but I'm not that close with him," she said dismissively. "I think you should leave."

He noticed her withdrawal. "Don't pull back, please. You asked for honesty, and I've given you what I can. I'm not trying to upset you. I just think you'd be a lot happier with us."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Annabeth found the idea of a sympathetic criminal rather amusing.

"What?" she said. "So I can climb the corporate ladder? You're either with the government or some other syndicate, and frankly, whether I sell myself on this corner or on Boardwalk Fucking Avenue makes no difference to me." Annabeth tried to hide the tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

"Who says anything about that?" Percy said. "I'm offering you a desk job, nothing more nothing less. You would work in midtown, pretty close to the UN building. No streets, no weird hours, no whoring."

"Promises are easy to make," she said, digging through her tiny purse for a tissue. "Also easy to break."

"I'll give you fifty thousand in cash right now if you accept the job offer."

Annabeth's breath caught in her throat. Fifty thousand was life changing money. It meant moving away, going to school, living in an apartment big enough for a human being.

No, that wasn't right.

Fifty thousand from the lottery or dropped from god's rosy red ass right into her lap meant her life would change. Fifty thousand from Percy meant indentured servitude, a ball and chain to this lifestyle, and danger once Luke found out. There was no normal life when someone like him offered money.

"Fifty thousand won't do much good when I'm floating down the East in a body bag."

"Sixty thousand then," he urged.

"Did you think it was a matter of amount?" She looped the purse around her shoulder. "I don't want your money."

"Then a contract," he offered. "A short-term legal document where at the end of it you get the fifty thousand and we never contact you again."

Annabeth had to give him credit for his persistence. "As if the word legal means anything to you." She paused, glancing down the street. "We shouldn't be talking about this here. If Luke comes back he'll kill you."

Percy sighed, his windswept jet-black hair dancing in the breeze. "If you say so." He stepped back onto the street, looking into her eyes under the glow of the lamps. "But please think about it this time, seriously. Not many girls like you get offers like this."

He was right. Most girls like her had a meth addiction before their second child.

He reached out and put another card in her hand, this one with a phone number gilded into it. "If I don't hear from you by the end of the week, then I'll assume it's a no."

"It was already a no, genius," but she slipped the card into her back pocket anyway.

"Well, goodbye then."

Annabeth watched him drive away. It was barely midnight, but it felt like it had been hours since the night started. She was exhausted and afraid, yet there were still clients to find if she were to avoid punishment from Luke. Annabeth pulled out her phone, hoping some of her online profiles had attracted an easy customer for the night. In-calls were more expensive, so it helped weed out the unhygienic.

Two missed calls. One from an unknown number, one from a semi-regular client. She had him tagged as a femdom fetishist, or in other words, an easy night.

Shaking the evening's events out of her mind, Annabeth walked toward the subway, eager to end her night early.


End file.
